Keeping a Keen Eye
by mariteri
Summary: Tom Keen-a character study. Rated T for language.


**Disclaimer—I do not own The Blacklist or any of its characters. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hi! I was trying to get a handle on the Tom Keen character and this is what I came up with. Please review to let me know what you think of it. Thanks!**

**…**

**Keeping a Keen Eye**

Tom Keen, young, but somehow being wounded gravely aged the man. His hair was finger combed, his outfit was straight out of a Salvation Army donation bin—it still had the stink of stale closet and dust about them. And he had lost way too much weight. Now a good thirty pounds underweight, the clothes that would have fit him before hung off of him.

He strolled into the soup kitchen, looking around before going over to get his plate and sitting down across from a woman in layers and clutching a Styrofoam cup of coffee in her hands that were encased in fingerless gloves. Sitting down, he made it a point not to make eye contact with her. He ate without taking pause. It was little better than hospital food and had him wanting to spit it out, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Staying out of range of probing eyes and off the grid came with issues he best not think about too closely, he thought sourly. Tom had sworn he wouldn't live this way again, once he was away from his family. That he wouldn't be on the streets. That he would live in a house with a wife and a dog and a kid…

He had that, didn't he? Sort of. It had been a lie for the most part, but he had most of that. Again, sort of. It was the job, he told himself. And you did what you had to do for the job.

People were watching him again, but it was the nature of the location. Everyone watched everyone else in a place like this. You never knew who was truly good or truly bad. The do-gooders, the ones running the kitchen for the most part were good, but he would never put them in with the saints. You didn't know how they got what they wanted or what that was in the first place. Kiddie porn, drugs, booze and other vices best left not thought of. And then there were the ones that just wanted to survive another night away from the terrors in their heads. They were that way more times than not because they didn't know which way was up. _Neurotics build castles in the sky, psychotics live in them_ popped into his head along with the memory of his father too sick to know that not everything he saw was real.

But he had part of his childhood dream. Of a lovely home with a dog and a wife that loved him. That had been his. And for a time, he allowed himself to think of it being real. But she had been a pawn in a game she never knew she had been in at all. He gritted his teeth and made himself think of something else—anything else.

But he ended up back with that thought. Tom Keen. Whose idea was it to name him that? So pedestrian. So mundane. The name of an average Joe. A substitute teacher. God how he had hated that name. They had pulled it out of a hat—he and Gina. Shit, but how he missed her! Hot, willing, and ever so…not Elizabeth. Too clean, too uptight, Elizabeth was vanilla in a world that craved chocolate. And that, he thought was Gina in spades. But she had gotten caught and he had to go on with the job alone.

He could do that. It was what he did best, after all. Hadn't asked for a partner in the first place, but they had just given him one. It had turned out that they were very well matched and in more ways than one. Damn, but he missed the sex with her! But that, sadly, was about all he missed about the woman.

Tearing into the roll, he looked around the room. Everyone was keeping their heads down and eyes focused on the meal. Doing what he did, acting like a Meer cat looking for danger was common. But the moment another person looked up, their eyes shot down. Either that or they'd learned how to watch without looking like they were doing so. It was all a part of being in this place.

Acid roiled in his gut at his hatred of this church hall and its occupants. He hated them all. He, who had been raised in them most of his childhood, despised them all nearly as much as the man who had fathered him. Taking a deep breath, he allowed the anger to dissipate. Yeah, he had father issues. So what? Who didn't? But that did not mean he was over them or that he ever wanted to think about them at all.

He looked at his watch. Had to get back to watching her. His dear little wife…He chuckled. Well, not anymore. She got it annulled and was still keeping the name. He didn't comprehend why, but he actually liked that. She who shot him was keeping the name he had pulled out of a fucking hat. Go figure.

He got up and tossed the rest of the food away. Getting another coffee, he walked out thinking about her one last time. She was far stronger than he had ever given her credit for. Maybe that was why his bosses had wanted him to keep as close an eye on her as they did? He didn't know and his wasn't to guess. About the only thing that came to mind was one last thing, as he walked out the door. Vanilla was far more complex than he had thought it was.

**The end.**

**…**

**There you go! I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought of it. Thank you for reading and have a great day!**


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